Diary of a Lady Bat
by ry0
Summary: AU. What if Batman was actually a girl? What if this girl wrote a diary to keep her nerves in check while having to deal with lots of super-powered idiots? Brace yourself for the life of Lady Bat! Rated M for cursing and violence
1. The First Night

_Dear Diary,_

_Truth be told, I resent starting the first entry with this horrible boilerplate, but sadly I can't think of anything better to wirte. Seeing my constant sleep deprivation, the mere thought of keeping a diary is already stupid enough. But I've got the feeling that with my current lifestyle I'll get serious mental issues soon, and by then these entries will hopefully help me to analyze myself and fix me to a certain degree, before they put me away in one of those "bridewells", like they did with all the others who spoke their mind._

_Note number 1: Ask about indications of paranoia in the lecture tomorrow and inspect myself for it_

_Great. I'm keeping this diary for self-analysis for no more than two minutes and alreay have the first suspicion of mental issues. If I keep this on, I'll commit myself in two days._

_Note number 2: Ask about indications of nympholepsy for social conventions in the lecture tomorrow and inspect myself for it_

_Note number 3: Find a reasonable excuse for asking such strange questions before anybody becomes suspicious_

* * *

I sigh, putting the pencil aside before flipping the diary shut and locking it away in the small safe with the 26-digit combination. "Diary" sounds really lame and childish somehow. Maybe I should call this my memoirs. But in case this little booklet ever goes public, I'm screwed anyway. Not even money will be able to save me then - and I have to know, I'm rich. Well, to be precise only my father is rich.

For a moment I consider getting the diary out again and add a fourth note regarding possible inferiority complexes, but then I find it too laborious. Aside from that it's already late, the fingers of my alarm clock anounce ten minutes past midnight. High time for my great entrance in Gotham City.

I'm sick of being the victim. I'm sick of being lied to. It took me long enough to prepare myself for this moment. But now I will take matters into my own hands. All those liars, corrupt responsibles and murderers should better be careful. I have suffered enough. I will spare others this misery.

The dress is in the hidden rear of my wardrobe that can be only opened with a retinal scan. There surely are advantages to literally be coining money. What is a simple gray fabric at first appearance, turns out to be a Kevlar-strengthened suit looked at more closely. Protection against knives, hits and on longer distances even against bullets. I don't actually plan on getting into a situation where such a protection is required, but you never know. I'm rather prepared for everything.

I pull the black gloves over my hands, then the cape and the cowl with the bat ears that hide all the hightech-devices that are needed for my little actions. The bat look is maybe a little bit too camp, but somehow it fits pretty well. After all it was a bat that went astray in my rom back then and with some odd coincidences destroyed my life, but also saved it. I subsequently dubbed it Bruce. Bruce the bat. In my mind, the name sounds pretty nice.

* * *

It's not difficult to climb up the wall of the building, jam the security system and work my way to the room with the safe. That thing appears downright ridiculous in comparison to the one I put my diary into. Almost as if those idiots wanted someone to come by and mug them. But well, I don't want to complain.

With a muffled clicking noise the safe opens. Neatly organized, there are lying the money and the documents. Definitely enough information to prove that the boss of this company hasn't acted as law-abiding as he always claims. I put the entire content of the safe into the little backpack that's hidden beneath the cape. The documents are for the police to improve my image, the money is for me because Daddy's scanting with my pocket money again. And the equipment I'm wearing right now was everything but cheap.

The second the safe is empty, the alarm suddenly activates with a loud piercing sound. Apparently the bottom in there was sensitive to weight. I curse quietly that I didn't think of this sooner and used something as substitute. Maybe a business card or something like that, like they always do in movies. But now isn't the time for that.

I have almost reached the roof when they spot me. Loud screaming ensues among the men who are now blocking my way in the aisle before and behind me. Maybe they're cops, maybe they're criminals. In this city it's likely they're both.

"Hands up! And lay everything you stole down in front of you!", one of them shouts and aims his gun at me. I pull a face, denying myself from pointing to the fact that I can't possibly put up my hands and lay something down at the same time. Besides, I definitely didn't burgle this place just to give the stuff back now. Instead, I don't budge and wait. For the right moment. The moment when one of them will give me a chance to escape. But the guy just keeps talking. His mistake. "Who are you? And what's up with that odd outfit? This isn't a costume party, bub!"

I hope the voice-contorter I installed does what it's supposed to when I open my mouth and answer. My voice sound deeper, throaty, in some way pretty scary. "Can't you see that, Sir?"

The guy in front of me is shivering. Apparently he finds the voice scary, too. Good. "Cut this nonsense! Tell me who you-"

Finally he's flustered enough to gesture around wildly, pointing his gun somewhere else in the process. There it is, my chance.

I rush up to him. He's confused enough to hesitate about shooting. A quick grip to his wrist, a practiced shifting of weight and the guy's falling onto his two fellows behind him while my way to the roof is finally clear.

By the time I reach the top of the building, my lungs are burning from all the running. Out of breath I suck in the cool nightly air. Stamina has never been my strong point. Maybe I shouldn't have skipped my sports classes that often last year. At the verge of the building I stand still, looking down on the lights of the miniscule looking cars. How many floors did this building have again? Forty-five or Fifty-four. I am always transposing digits.

In the mean time, the watchmen have planted themselves behind me, every one with his weapon at the ready. Everyone except the guy who is now holding his strangely twisted wrist and standing behind the others. He doesn't look happy at all.

"You can't escape from here! Surrender, you freak! You may dress up like a bat, but you definitely can't fly like one!"

I fight the urge to grin at him. Maintain the image. Come on, do your best. The throaty voice that seems foreign even to my own ears sounds again. "Are you sure...?"

Then I let myself fall backwards over the handrail.

Stupid idea. If I want to use the cape as a parachute, my body has to be the other way around. Way to go.

A few more seconds of free falling pass by before I finally manage to turn myself around and stretch the cape. Above me, the noise is rising. Eventually those guys have started to shoot. But I'm already too far off, landing in a dark alley two blocks away, next to my jet-black motorcycle. They won't get a hold of me anymore.

* * *

"Hey, little princess! Wake up! When the prof sees you sleeping in his lecture, all hell will be let loose!"

"As if you never slept during the lecture", I grumble, eyes staying shut as I'm deliberately ignoring the request. What I sadly can't ignore is the constant poking to my arm that starts then.

"Come on, little princess! Wake up! Or do I have to find a prince to kiss you awake first?"

"Breeze off. Let me sleep", I hiss, still opening my eyes now. The first thing I see are ragged jeans full of clasp pins. I slowly raise my gaze. Tartan kilt, torn shirt, leather jacket, shaved head except for the gelled, bleached mohawk in the middle. At the back of the head there are dreadlocks, I know it without seeing them. I yawn. "Mornin', Mike."

"Mornin', little princess", he greats back, collapsing into the chair next to me, holding a newspaper in one and a coffee in the other hand. The lecture starts in ten minutes, but so far that has never bothered him while having breakfast. When my only friend in this room filled with hundreds of students starts searching his bag for his food, I grap the newspaper. I hope for those journalists that my little action yesterday evening has made headlines.

On the cover there are flaunting huge letters. "Who is the mysterious" - I unconsciously stop breathing - "Superman?". Dammit. It's that weirdo from Metropolis again. Doing nothing but flying all over the city and saving some idiots. What a boyscout. I skim on, seeing on page 3 what I was looking for.

"Unknown with a bat costume robs industrial concern 'Eugenics' in Gotham City - Strictly confidential documents found in police office - Suspicion of cooperation between Eugenics and drug dealers perhaps comfirmed"

Perhaps confirmed? What is that supposed to mean? I have delivered at least the triple fold of evidence needed to confirm this suspicion to those idiots from the police. Looks like someone took bribes again. Oh, how I hate this city. Halfheartedly I skim the article until I reach the end.

"... a speaker of the watchmen informed that the culprit wore a bat costume. Officially no one has taken responsibility for the burglar so far. The nameless is already called "Batman" by most people."

My hand grasps the newsprint tighter. Batman? BatMAN?

Okay, I know I don't have the most feminine physique. My breasts and hips could be a little more impressive, and my waist smaller. And I'm a little bit buff, after all forty floors don't climb up on their own. But do those guys really think I'm a man?

"Hey, easy, little princess. Angry that those men in tights upstaged you? Sadly you only made it to page 17, turn over", Mike's voice rouses me from my thoughts. I smooth down the crinkled sheets, turning them over.

"Billions-heiress Beverly Bennett starts study of psychology in Gotham City with the best average since seven years", I grunt quietly to myself. Beverly Bennett. I hate this name. Sounds like something from one of those cheap tearjerker-novels. Bloody stupid.

"Well, BB? Proud of your genius?"

"Don't call me 'BB'. You know I hate that name."

"Relax, little princess."

"Don't call me little princess. You know I hate that."

"Oh, so we're a little moody again today. But I guess you can afford that with a rich father like yours, right?"

"Don't reduce me on my father's money. You know I hate that."

"Yeah yeah. Then how about finally answering my question if you're proud of being all that more intelligent than we are?"

The professor comes in, late as always and starting the lecture. This saves me from pointing out to Mike that I hate it when people portray me as some kind of genius. Now I first have to be attentive and learn something.

After all my knowledge about the human mind has saved my life last night. Who knows when that will be necessary again.

* * *

_**A/N:** I don't really know how this happened. I actually planned on writing a completely different story. But suddenly, creativity hit me and I couldn't help but write this down. So, Batman's a girl in this story. I don't know what's gonna happen next. Hopefully it's something funny._

_Reviews would be lovely, since I'd like to know about your expectations. =)_


	2. The Second Night

The lecture ends at 4:30 pm. Luckily this gives me the chance to get another few hours of sleep before my alarm clock rings at 11 pm and I have to get ready for my second job. But first there's something else I've got to do.

_Dear Diary,_

_Again I'm starting my entry with this stupid "Dear Diary". But sadly, I still couldn't think of anything better. Mike's still as stupid as always, too. Nearly died laughing about me asking so many questions. But I know he means no harm with that. Therewith, my suspicion of paranoid schizophrenia and inferiority complexes is proven wrong for now._

_Some bumbling idiot from Metropolis has upstaged me. Calls himself "Superman", saving about everyone without rhyme or reason. That watchmen guy thinks I'm a guy. Therefore the press is now calling me "Batman". It's a shame, really, although I know I should actually be happy. Like this at least no one will suspect the psychology freshman. Still I think I should set the record straight when I go out this evening to find out which policeman prized his personal assets above his duty again._

_I just have to think of a name until then._

* * *

After I put my diary away safely and got into my dress, I feel amost like a different person. Strong and self-confident. I should have made a note to test myself of multiple personalities. But I'm already late again, so that will have to wait.

The safety measures at the police in Gotham City are quite negligent. Meaning there are none. Due to the fact that about all of the police institutions are burnt down or otherwise demolished relatively periodically, they probably thought a burglar alarm wouldn't help anymore either. Lucky me. Like this I quickly find out at which policeman the documents with the evidence suddenly "got stuck".

* * *

Barely half an hour later my black motorcycle is stood next to the house of a certain lieutenant Doronet. His house is looking pronouncedly lush. Didn't know policemen get paid that royally. The suspicion of some perquisites is downright leaping out at me.

Soundlessly I sneak over his balcony into his sleeping room. Dear Mr Doronet is a distinctly sound sleeper. Or maybe I was just too quiet. In any case, he doesn't wake up. Closing the door behind me I go back out again, then push it open with emphasis, standing still as a hooded black shadow in the doorway. Mr Doronet finally starts moving, looking around sleepily until he spots me. His eyes widen in fear as he starts to shiver without a word. I knew the shining white lenses over my eyes were a good idea. I have to look really creepy. Especially to someone who has a skeleton in his closet.

"W-What do you want...?", he asks with a squeaky voice. Poor guy, he should get himself a cool device like mine that makes him sound more frightening. His hand starts fumbling around for the gun that's been hidden beneath his pillow. Wasn't hard to find. Took it away long ago.

"I let your police station have a little gift yesterday", the deep growl emits from my voice-contorter. I hold up his gun so he finally stops his frantic searching. "I don't like it when my gifts somehow... vanish, Mr Doronet."

Something has to go on in that guy's head right now. Maybe he thinks I want to shoot him. Even though I don't point that stupid gun at him. Nevertheless that guy suddenly jumps at me, screaming in panic. I dodge with a practiced move, sending him falling to the floor. His pale potbelly wobbles as he struggles to get back to his feet, panting, trying to charge at me yet again. I keep dodging until he slips on an empty champagne bottle, almost falling off his balcony. For a short moment, I'm tempted to stand still and just watch him fall to his death. After all it's his fault for sleeping four flights up.

But if I have a murder charge on my hands, I'll likely get serious problems with the police. After all that guy's still lieutenant. And so I grip his arm with one hand while pushing the other one with the gun down on his back to keep him from falling. By a snatch his weight pulls me down as well and I'm already seeing myself lying on the ground with my neck broken, but somehow I manage to keep the both of us up on the balcony.

At that very moment a blazingly bright light goes on. I narrow my eyes.

"You are surrounded. Drop the weapon immediately. I repeat, you are surrounded. Drop the weapon...", the voice from a megaphone roars in my ears. My eyes gradually adjust to the light that's coming from different floodlights. Two of them at the helicopters above me, some more down on the ground at the police cars.

"Shit", I swear silently to myself as I realize that those policemen caught on my little visit awfully well, thus knowing where I would go.

And "Fucking shit" yet again as I realize that the barrel of the gun is right now pressing against Mr Doronet's neck pretty suggestively, the man I am currently holding over the handrail four flights up. I guess they misinterpreted this a little bit.

I don't budge an inch while the voice keeps repeating its orders. As long as I'm holding the lieutenant, the policemen won't intervene. Whoever is in charge down there has apparently realized that that guy's plummeting to his death in case I release him right now. Something he actually deserves, but yet again, I really don't need a murder charge. Think of something, Beverly, hurry. Come up with something in that genius brain of yours. Why are you learning how the human mind works every day?

I slowly pull the man away from the handrail, pressing the gun to his neck more firmly in return. I need a leverage, I'm sorry. There goes my good image. But I'm currently surrounded by about twenty policemen and don't want to stand trial tomorrow.

"Who is the operations manager?", my unfamiliar dark voice aks against the noise of the rotor blades of the helicopter. I see the policemen on the ground move, a man with mustache and glasses stepping forward.

"I'm Lieutenant Gordon!", the man shouts up at me. Another lieutenant, great. "Who are you and what do you want?"

I take a step back, increasing the gap between myself and Doronet whom I still threatening with the gun against his throat. I can see him trembling with fear. Sweating. My thoughts are racing. Scared of death. Panic. Come on, Beverly, get a move on. Remember that lecture about fear.

Panic results in either flight or aggression. Which in Doronet's situation both come down to the same thing - he has to disarm me. If I give him a chance, he'll definitely attack me. Fine, sounds like a plan.

"I, Mr Gordon", my menacing voice speaks on while I keep distancing myself from Doronet, "am a little upset about your titling of my person", I take another step backwards and the wind of the rotor blades captures my black cape that veiled me until now and is now blown back, revealing the skintight gray kevlar suit that's covering my obviously not male body, "as BatMAN."

I can see clearly how a light dawns on those policemen down there as they finally latch onto the fact that I'm a girl. Well done, Beverly. Just keep them thinking that you almost killed a cop only to get your gender straight. No word about trying to blow a corrupted corporation's cover. That's good for my bad image. Before I end up like that weirdo in Metropolis.

"Okay, Miss", the policeman, Gordon or whatever his name was, calls up at me. "How would you like to be called? Batwoman? Batgirl?"

I can see the muscles in Doronet's back work. Now that he knows I'm a girl he feels as if he could overpower me, thinking he could disarm me. The attack is provoked. He only has to do it. Come on, Doronet, you wuss. Attack me.

"Of course not. That's much too stereotyped and simple. I am...", I start and slightly lower the gun. Finally that dork screws up his courage and does what I've wanted him to do all along. He turns around as if in slow motion. Much too slow for me.

All he sees is empty space where I stood mere moments ago. The gun hits the floor as I leap onto the handrail behind his back. The hook hits the skids of the helicopter unerringly, and I take to the air.

"Lady Bat", I call the name out into the night, the name that penetrates my mind this very second, before I disappear into the darkness to scoot away on my motorcycle. Those idiots will never cop me.

* * *

"Little princess. Hey, little princess. BB. Beverly. Wake up. Do you intend to sleep in every lecture now?"

"Leave me alone, Mike", I mumble ungraciously, still opening my eyes with a yawn. The disadvantage of these nightly ventures is definitely the sleep deprivation. While he is emptying out his bag in order to find his breakfast, I once again snitch his newspaper.

On the cover there's an awesome photograph. I absolutely have to meet that photographer. The rope I used to pull myself up isn't visible, as a result it looks as if my body with the wafted up cape really is that of a flying bat with spread out wings. The glaring light of the floodlights is behind me, coloring me in black shadows. Only the eyes glow white and demonically. No, I really don't look human in this picture. More like a monster. Just perfect for Gotham City.

What sadly ruins the great picture are the headline and the article beneath. "Lady Bat tries to kill policeman" - Great, so much for the murder charge.

I grimace offendedly. This is going to be just great.

In the mean time Mike has finally found his sandwich and is now tipping his finger at the photo. "You'll meet that guy this afternoon, don't you?", he asks chewing on his bread.

"Pardon?", I ask back in confusion. Mike always knows better about my appointments than I do. I still haven't figured out how he does that. But I should actually know about a date.

"The photographer. Jimmy Olsen from the Daily Plante in Metropolis. He and two of his colleagues have been in town since yesterday and they set up an interview with you for this afternoon."

"Fuck, you're right...", I mumble, letting my head sink down onto the desk. That's going to be awful. This Lois Lane is well known for portraying rich people like they were the only evil on earth. I just hope her new colleague will slow her down a little. What was his name again?

Clark Kent, I think...

* * *

_**A/N:** Okay, here we go again. I'm actually quite surprised how much I'm writing these days. But I don't even know what happens myself until I actually write it down.  
__Thank you very much for the comments. I'm the kind of person who needs to know that someone's interested in my stories, so I was really happy =)_

_Of course I know that there are Batwoman and Batgirl. But Lady Bat is, in fact, someone different, a female Batman aka Bruce Wayne. Meaning she's going to be part of the Justice League and therefore will be stuck with dear Superman, Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman, etc. I think this could get quite amusing. Maybe I'll even have some of the other heroes hitting on her. I'd love to see her reaction to that._

_And just to make it clear, the Justice League doesn't exist in this story yet. It's like the start of the New 52, where superheroes are quite new and nobody knows anything about them._

_So, next chapter will have a meeting between Beverly and Clark as well as Lady Bat and Superman (I think. Not sure yet)_

_Please review and tell me your thoughts, point out mistakes, add own ideas, ask questions... whatever ;)_


	3. The Third Night

Impatiently I tip my finger onto the plate of the table. I'm bone-tired and have only a few hours left until I have to get up and grapple with some wackos again. Sleep is really scarce right now, and here I am sitting and waiting for three reporters who are not on time. At any rate, they're already out of favor with me.

The flashlight of a camera stops me from further brooding. I look up, finally seeing the three coming to the table in the café where they wanted to conduct their interview so much. The boy with the camera has to be Jimmy Olsen, the guy who took that great picture of Lady Bat. The woman is obviously Lois Lane. And the guy behind her... Gosh, that guy's got the build of a nightclub-doorman. Didn't know reporters could have such brawn. And he doesn't look half bad, either. What a pity I have already forgotten his name again.

"Good afternoon. Lois Lane from the Daily Planet in Metropolis", the woman introduces herself to me. I force myself to smile and shake hands with her. Because of her I'm losing a few valuable hours of sleep - needless to say I don't like her.

The interview is downright a catastrophe, as expected. Ms Lane asks her questions in a way that's making sure I will be depicted as a cruel, heartless monstrosity in the newspaper tomorrow. There it goes, the once good reputation of Beverly Bennett... Okay, I admit it, it never existed to begin with.

"Ms Bennett, what is life like now that you're out of home for the first time? Lately there have been some rumors about some differences in opinion between you and your father, especially since you called off your engagement."

"Ms Lane, I assure you things between me and my father are at their best." I smile. Lie.

"I'm very pleased to hear that. Now, you have been in Gotham City for a little more than two weeks. Lately one this masked figures that are suddenly seen everywhere has appeared here as well. Our dear Jimmy has taken a photograph last night. What dou you think about this Lady Bat?"

I contemplate for a short moment. Don't say anything wrong now. In the end everything will be used against me anyway. "I think she's acting pretty... strange."

"Strange? What do you mean by that?", asks Clark Kent now. He has been silent the whole time, wordlessy looking at Lois Lane and admiring her as if she was the most beautiful creature that can be found in this world. I guess he's got a huge crush on her, but she's giving him the cold shoulder. Poor guy. Only now that we're talking about Lady Bat he suddenly seems pretty interested.

"Well, she burgles a corporation stealing its money and documents. Then she delivers those documents to the police. And the next day she sets off and suddenly threatens the policeman responsible for those documents. I just wonder why she's doing something like that." I look Mr Kent straight in the eyes. He looks back. Something about this guy is odd. Doesn't say one word until the interview is about masked people. I'm just about to open my mouth in order to change the topic, when suddenly loud screaming starts behind us.

I turn around, seeing two men wearing black stocking masks and carrying bulging bags running over the street, each one holding a gun in his hand and shooting around in a blind rage. In the middle of the street. In bright daylight. And nobody does anything to stop them. O Gotham, you spoiled city.

One of them turns around and sees me. The way he looks at me, nudging his partner... Fucking shit, I know this scenario. That guy has just now recognized Beverly Bennett. His opportunity for a really bituminous ransom in case he manages to abduct me. And in a city like Gotham it's unlikely someone will try to stop him.

The two men approach us. I know I have to think of something fast. But I don't want to blow my cover as Lady Bat, Beverly Bennett has to seem weak and helpless. Damn.

They start shooting again, without thinking or at least aiming. A bullet dashes past me, another one hits the table I'm sitting at. I'm already seeing myself lying dead and perforated on the ground. The three reporters from Metropolis don't move an inch, either. Well, at least two of them. Mr Kent on the other hand suddenly jumps up as if wanting to run away.

And one of the two wannabe-kidnappers sees him.

Aims.

And Kent doesn't notice.

Fuck, no.

Before I can even think about it, I leap up as well, throwing my full weight against him to tackle him down to the floor and get him out of the line of fire.

The loud report tears through the silence.

He's tumbling, but doesn't fall. Of course not, his weight has to be at least twice as much as mine. He's as good as dead.

Wait a moment, no. I'm between him and that guy.

_I_ am as good as dead.

Time is passing by painfully slowly. The adrenaline is pulsating through my veins, but I can't get away from here in time, not in time, not if I want to save him.

A second elapses. Then another one. I realize that I've unconsciously clutched Mr Kent's shirt. Then I realize I'm trembling. I'm scared. I don't want to die yet.

His hand is on my back, almost as if he's trying to protect me. Something's not right. There is no pain. Impossible, the shot must have hit me, I was right in the line of fire...

"Ms Bennett, are you alright?", he asks with a gentle voice. I can only nod, still unable to utter a single word. I'm still alive...?

Slowly I let go of him, taking a step back insecurely. As I turn around, the two gangsters are staying there staring at their empty hands in bewilderment. The two guns are lying on the ground. Melted. I'm trying to think, but there isn't a logical explanation for this.

"Ms Bennett?", Mr Kent asks again, carefully as if he's afraid I'd collapse any second. A worry I share with him.

"I'm fine...", I mumble tonelessly. Last night and the one before I have also been threatened with guns, I'm used to it... I have to pull myself together. Maybe it'll work later. When I don't feel as if I should be lying on the ground right now, with a bullet in my back and dead.

Suprisingly enough the police appears, arresting the two stunned robbers. Ms Lane gives thanks to me for the interview and the three of them leave. Mr Kent turns back one last time, looking at me concernedly, before they're out of sight. I sink down to my knees. Maybe I just imagined the report. Maybe that guy didn't really shoot at me.

Then a flashing on the ground catches my attention. A bullet. The one that should technically be in my back right now. And it's completely crumpled, as if it hit a tank or something like that.

I try to understand. But I can't.

* * *

_Dear Dia-_

_Oh, fuck it._

_Dear memoirs,_

_I should actually be dead right now._

_I've taken the bullet with me. That thing's real. It should be stuck in my body right now, but it isn't and only looks pretty demolished instead. If I don't find a logical explanation for this soon, I'm really going to go insane. I can't escape the feeling that I'm failing to see something in this whole ordeal. Af if the solution was obvious and I just can't quite grasp it._

_I've been thinking for a while if I should go out tonight or not, but in the end decided to do it. When I wear the dress I'm Lady Bat, not Beverly. And somehow Lady Bat's better at dealing with all this crap._

_I only have to come up with an idea what to do. I can't visit my dear friend Mr Doronet this time, the lieutenant taking bribemoney. That would seem as if I really wanted to kill him._

_I think I'm just going to paint the town red, scaring one or two petty criminals to death before any other Beverly or another Mr Kent is shot to death out there._

_That Mr Kent was somehow odd, too. Only doting on Lois Lane who's never going to notice him, but I... Shit, writing this down will sound like one of those cheap romantic novels, but no one but me will ever read it anyway._

_I can't forget the way he looked at me. And the way his hand touched my back as if he wanted to protect me. In my whole life, nobody has ever protected me. My heart's beating faster every time I think about how he held me. But I'm not in love, I swear._

_It's something different._

_Still, Clark Kent seems really nice. I think I like him._

* * *

I put the diary into my small safe. I won't fall for the reporter from Metropolis, no. Definitely not. I try to calm down my speeding heart. Then I put on the dress, jumping out of my window into the night.

I see a guy with a stuffed bag climbing out of a window and dislocate his shoulder before tying him to the fireladder with his own jacket, headfirst.

I hear a woman screaming in an alleyway, breaking her near rapist three rips with a kick so he blacks out.

I hear the alert of a small store knocking the three burglars unconcious one after the other, way before the police arrives.

The first time my arm hurts because of the unusual strain.

The second time I receive a painful hit to the stomach.

The third time one of the three guys hits my chest with a baseball bet and I thank that god I don't believe in that none of my bones get broken.

And with every done deed I feel better, despite the ache.

* * *

It's almost three o'clock in the morning when I notice yet another burglar. At least I consider it one. The backdoor of a company producing explosives has been forced open. Needless to say that in a city like Gotham, this spells trouble.

As quiet as possible I sneak in. In one of the halls someone has turned on the light. Either a highly motivated night shift or the next of Lady Bat's victims. Several considerably brawny men walk around the hall while carrying sundry boxes to a delivery truck. I narrow my eyes, trying to get a better look.

Maybe I've gone mad much earlier than I expected. Or alternatively these guys are indeed all made up like clowns. In Gotham there really are the strangest figures gadding about.

I sneak closer to the truck. In front of it there's a man standing, holding a megaphone in his hand and shooing all the others around. Creepy clown visage, green hair, purple suit. That guy's definitely mad. He raises his megaphone shouting orders throughout the hall. His voice has something really creepy to it. Something between unbridled madness and coldly calculating genius.

I creep up on them a little more. Reading the labels on the boxes I try to make sense of it. I've always done moderately well at chemistry, I have to arrive at some kind of conclusi-

A shadow is cast on me and I instinctively take a huge leap to dodge. Good decision because it spares me a miserable end by a crowbar. Bad decision because my thoughtless leap has sent me in the middle of the hall where everyone can see me. The guy with the crowbar who just tried to strike me dead from behind approaches me again. As well as his fellows who are now dropping everything to surround me. A great situation you've gotten yourself into this time, Beverly, I praise myself sardonically.

"Cooey cooey cooey, look who's paying us a little nightly visit?", the guy in the purple suit screams coming up to me with a maniacally wide grin on his face. He stands still in front of me putting out his hand as if greeting me. "My name is Joker. And you are Lady Bat, I assume?"

I say nothing, standing still and ignoring the hand in front of me. Bad luck for him I noticed the taser at his palm.

After a few moments his grin vanishes making place for a irritated expression. "I see, I see. So the bat doesn't want to talk to me. Are you dumb? You know what, I don't care. In any case, you'll be in a jiffy. You see, I need this stuff to bomb the whole city to hell. Take care of her, guys!"

Saying this he turns around, strolling away while the others are coming even closer to me. Seems about time to test out what I've learnt in all my jujutsu, karate, kung fu and boxing lessons. I just hope it's enough to take on a good dozen musclemen.

I know that I won't stand a chance in a mere comparison of physical strength. Not to mention those guys are clearly in the majority. Thus, I have to come up with something again. I dodge, again and again, twisting one or two joints enough that they can't be used any time soon again. I manage to kick one of them into the pit of his stomach, sending him flying. He won't get up for quite some time. Another one is sent running into the fist of his fellow by me. He will leave me alone for some time as well. Two of them have a dislocated shoulder by now, not a nice way but effective. I grab the arm of number five as he tries to punch me, throwing him off balance and then letting him go to the ground beneath his own weight. So far, so good. Next up are-

Pain explodes in my lower back. I'm thrown off my feet, flying through the air before falling to the ground ungracefully. This time the guy with the crowbar got me. Or maybe it was that cheeky girl in the red and black attire that's jumping around like a lunatic. I try to pick myself up but get instantly pushed down my a boot on my stomach that's keeping me on the ground. Shit.

The guy above me grins, looking all the creepier with his clown-like make-up. In joyful anticipation he taps the crowbar into his own hand a few times before raising it high above his head in order to-

The loud howling of police sirens tears through the silence.

The Joker, as he called himself, shouts around that they have to go now. Apparently that guy's got a lot of authority because all others let got of me immediately running over to the truck. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Batsy! Maybe we'll meet again next night before I blow this city to kingdom come!", the mad clown screams.

Someone steps on the gas and the truck speeds off, crushing through the instable wall noisily and subsequently through the blockade of the police before disappearing into the night. Then they're gone. Leaving only me and three unconscious killer-clowns.

* * *

I struggle to get back to my feet, panting and trembling slightly. I'm sore all over, especially my left arm and the part of my back where that crowbar hit me. I just hope it's nothing serious. I almost kicked the bucket just now. How ironic I was saved by the police of all things. Staggering slightly and with aching limbs I hurry out of the hall, some stairs up, until I arrive at the roof and the night sky is above me. A few stories beneath me there I can see the blinking of the police cars' hazard lights. Silently I wonder how the hell I'm supposed to get out of this again.

Down there I spot someone who looks familiar to me. Lieutenant Gordon, if I'm not mistaken. Unfortunately he spots me as well and immediately the unbearably bright light of a searchlight is stinging in my eyes again.

"Lady Bat, you're under arrest. Surrender without resistance and take off your mask", his megaphone-enhanced voice roars up at me. I sigh, wondering what I have done to deserve this. Today I only tried to help.

"Lieutenant, instead of chasing after bats you should rather try to catch that mad clown!", I call back down to him. This Joker-guy's apparently intending to blow up the whole city tomorrow. And to be honest, to me that guy seems lunatic enough to actually be serious about this. Even though I still don't get what he expects to achieve with that. Badly necessary that someone stops him. But alas, it seems that Gordon thinks about this a little differently.

"Lady Bat, you are at least as criminal as that clown is! You stand accused of burglar, theft, threatening, obstruction of justice, obstruction of state authority, attempted murder and since today vigilantism and grievous bodily harm as well! Surrender peacefully or else I'm forced to open fire at you!"

Okay, it seems that man just doesn't want to see it. Looks like I have no choice but to take care of the Joker myself. Assuming that I get out of this alive and without handcuffs, of course. Pity I left my motorcycle at home tonight. Well, at least the area is populous.

"For the last time! Surrender or I'll open fire!", Gordon shouts up at me. Something dashes into the facade below me. A warning shot. Guess he's serious about shooting. Time to take my leave.

The hook hits the highest building two streets away. That's more than enough. I leap up into the air, soaring over the heads of the stunned policemen and disappearing into the night. Landing on the roof I run on without slowing down, jumping over to the next one, again and again, further and further, until the noise of the sirens peters out behind me. I keep jumping from roof to roof till I'm sure I outpaced them.

* * *

My lungs are burning. I can barely move my left arm. I think I'm bleeding somewhere. But in an odd way, I'm happy. I'm free. Nobody can catch me, not here in Gotham's roofscape while the night is hiding me in its shadows...

"Good evening, Miss Bat."

I wheel around. Blue dress. Red cape. A huge fat "S" on the chest. And the guy's fucking floating in the air as if gravity was none of his business. The weirdo from Metropolis. Oh no, not him.

"Lady Bat", I correct him hoping he didn't notice how much he startled me.

"Well, Lady Bat then. I am-"

"Superman. I know. Go back to Metropolis, I'm sure someone there's needing you help again."

"I'd like to. But unfortunately, there are matters in Gotham that demand my attention."

"I'm sure I can attend to these matters just as well."

"As a matter of fact, you _are_ this matter, Lady Bat."

"I don't know how my doing would be your concern."

"The people are suspicious of beings like us who are wearing masks and hiding their identity in order to accomplish remarkable deeds. They distrust us because of the ones like you who are using this second identity for breaking laws rather than preserving them."

"I don't break laws. I bend them."

"Lady Bat, I'm sorry but I have to insist that you turn yourself in to the police. If you really haven't done anything wrong, there should be nothing you have to fear." He lands on the roof, taking a step in my direction. Instinctively, I take one back.

"Are you crazy? They'll demask me! I don't know how you can afford flying around without wearing a mask-"

"Hypnosis."

"-but in case they find out who I am, I've got a serious problem." I look at that guy and he looks back.

The fraction of a second later he is right in front of me holding my wrists tightly and with unyieldingly strong hands. I try to break away, but it's futile and I know it. He furrows his brows as if concentrating on something. "I'm sorry, but I have to be adamant that you go to the police and-"

I try to remember everything I've heard about this guy so far. His fault for giving exclusive interviews to Lois Lane and spreading his secrets around everywhere. Let's see. Extraterrestrial from the now destroyed planet Krypton. Able to fly. Invulnerable to mostly everything. Apparently protecting his true identity with hypntotic abilities on the subconsciousness. Heat-emitting vision. Inhuman speed and strength. X-ray-...

Fucking hell, x-ray vision. The super-idiot is right now trying to see through my cowl.

At the moment I realize what he's doing it's already to late. What I haven't accounted for, however, is his reaction.

He lets go of me, taking a step back. "You...?", he asks, looking at me in utter amazement.

"You looked", I screw out between clenched teeth. I hope he can hear the supreme contempt in my voice. Especially from someone like him I had actually expected the decency to respect my secret identity. On the other hand I didn't take it into account that somehow, this just saved me - for whatever reason.

"You... you risked your life to save someone you barely knew today...", he mutters, looking oddly touched. That guy does not onyl know who I am, but also what I did. Things just keep getting worse.

"Did you expect me to just sit there and watch?", I hiss. I'm more than a little angry at him for looking.

"Why are you doing what you do? Why are you doing these... 'strange' things?"

"I want to help. My life is broken. Has been pretty crappy. Because the powerful people are using the laws to their own advantage. And someone's got to put things straight again."

"Why is your life 'broken'?", he asks. His voice sounds so gentle... It reminds me of someone. I just can't say of whom. Probably has to do with those hypnotic abilities of his.

"That's none of your concern. Let me go", I demand. That guy's having an advantage over me at almost all points. I can't run away from him if he doesn't let me, that much is sure.

He's tilting his head to the side. Looks as if he's thinking about something. I guess it's something new for him to not simply accept the laws like they are written down on the paper but to use his own head for a change. "I'll let you go if you tell me why you are doing this. And what you want to accomplish with it", he finally says.

I sigh. "Not like I have a choice, right? I only hope you don't expect something overly sweeping. I may not be an average girl but I haven't really gone through hell, either. In short, my dad tried to kill me and I survived. Then I decided-"

"Wait a moment", the super-idiot interrupts me. "Your dad tried to kill you? Are you sure it wasn't just some kind of misunderstanding?"

"Would be nice, wouldn't it? But it wasn't. My dad doesn't like people answering back at him and questioning his authority. Not even if it's his own daughter. But honestly, I don't care, I've gotten used to it."

"Doesn't look like it."

"Pardon?"

"Your hand", the alien says. I look down at my right hand and realize only now I've clenched it into a fist. And I'm trembling. Didn't realize it was that cold tonight. Because I've gotten over it, really.

I let out a composed sigh. "Let's just get it over with so I can go to sleep, okay? I'll make it short, promise.

I was really angry back then. So when I moved out to go to college in Gotham I decided to use my abilities. I'm sick of these rich people doing whatever they want. I'm sick of absolutely everyone taking advantage of other people, using and hurting them for his own happiness. I may not be able to fly like you do, but I know how to make people afraid. And I _will_ make them afraid. I'll make sure no one will buy himself authority, trust or justice ever again."

I take a deep breath. I'm calm, completely calm. I'm over all that crap. "So, there you've got it. No sob-story. Just me going crazy. Can I go to sleep now? I'm tired."

Superman's still staring at me. His blue eyes seem to look for something. Somehow they seem really familiar to me... Damn, I'm getting a headache from thinking about this.

A few moments of silence later he finally nods. "All right. Do what you want. But let nobody come to grief."

"Yeah yeah", I grumble. Nobody who doesn't deserve it.

Superman turns around flying away. I wait for a few minutes before taking the radar out of my belt. I can't believe that guy was really stupid enough not to notice the tracking device I attached to his cape.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Superman takes a look beneath Lady Bat's cowl. Now Lady Bat will find out who that mysterious Superman really is.

* * *

The small binoculars are doing a great job as I use them to take a look into the brightly lit hotel room. The red and blue dress is lying on the bed. The door to the bathroom opens and out of it comes...

"Clark Kent", I growl darkly and clench my hand into a fist once again, this time very deliberately.

All of a sudden the barrier that his hypnotic abilities put up in my thoughts is gone. The incredible similarity, the piercing glance, the gentle voice, of course, everything's identical. Now I can also finally understand how I survived the shot this afternoon. Clark Kent had his hand lying on my back, shielding me from the bullet that way. And while I was still shocked he used his heat vision to melt the guns.

That guy uses is fucking x-ray vision to look beneath my cowl as if it was nothing and at the same time keeps me from figuring out the obvious with his hypnosis, making me look like a complete dork for not realizing that Clark Kent and Superman are in fact one and the same person. I'm fucking angry.

Clark Kent takes his Superman suit putting it into his closet. He pauses, examining the cape more carefully. A sudden feeling of satisfaction washes over me as I see the shock edging its way onto his features. Looks like he finally found the tracker. He takes a look out of the window, possibly spotting me with some kind of super-foresight.

I smirk at him complacently, waving farewell and setting off.

I'm still angry at him.

* * *

_Dear memoirs,_

_I hate Clark Kent._

_He's the super-idiot from Metropolis._

* * *

_**A/N:** Okay, here we are again. This time the chapter got a little (well, a lot) longer, due to the fact that some really important characters appeared for the first time._

_Reviews are as always highly appreciated ;3_

_See you in the Fourth Night then =)_


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